The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You have no idea how much, do you?”

  “Of course I do!” he exclaimed, lying through his teeth. “It’s simply a husband’s duty to manage assets. You needn’t trouble yourself on that account.”

  “I see,” she said simply, pushing her chair back from the table. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go and have my bath now.”

  He stood immediately as she rose. “Yes, of course.”

  When she opened the door to the dressing room, one of the maids, a plump little redhead with a merry smile, greeted her, then glanced through the opening to speak to Jack. “Will’s brought up your trunk, sir. It’s in here.”

  Jack went to get it. He didn’t want a curious Laurel or one of the saucy maids digging through his things. His journals were in there.

  He had begun keeping his daily doings on paper as a young lad aboard ship, practicing for the day when he would captain his own vessel. It was a habit he continued even after that goal had been reached because it helped him to organize his thoughts and make decisions.

  Some of those decisions did not need sharing with any other person, especially those of the past few weeks.

  He glanced at the large copper tub with its cloth liner draped over the sides. Inviting steam drifted up from the water, awaiting Laurel. The other maid halted in unbuttoning Laurel’s gray gown.

  Jack wished to take the maid’s place and do that deed himself, but gallantly lifted his trunk and left the women to it. Both maids bobbed likes corks as he turned to close the door.

  He poured more wine and waited for Laurel to finish her bath so he could bathe next. The water would be cooling by then. Cold, he hoped. Perhaps that would serve to banish the worst of his urgency to have her.

  He couldn’t approach her like some ravenous rake bent on his own quick satisfaction. No woman, virgin or not, would appreciate that. He had never tupped an untried lass, but was well aware of the protocol involved. Patience. Not his strong suit, but he would employ it.

  He tried hard not to think of Laurel sliding naked into that tub, squeezing a spongeful of water over her shoulders and breasts. Soaping that lovely, fine-pored skin of hers and scrubbing softly, inhaling the scent of lavender with eyes closed and a soft smile on her face.

  He shook his head to clear it of the salacious images, drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, determined to dismiss the heat now rolling through him in waves.

  The fact that he did want her so fiercely surprised him a little, but he put that down to the denial he had endured this past week in which they shared adjacent quarters. And also, the knowledge that she was his wife and should have been available to him already.

  Circumstances being what they were, he thought he had behaved rather well, hopefully well enough that he had calmed her fears of the consummation, if she had any.

  Jack decided he was exceptionally lucky to have married Laurel. Not only was she innocent, she was also very attractive, intelligent and biddable. What more could a man want in a wife? He could never have found one more perfect.

  Heaven help him if she ever discovered why he had married her and the lies he had told her to make it happen.

  He had removed his coat and boots and was writing in his journal when the maid knocked and called out that her lady had finished.

  Jack wasted no time having his own bath and donning a nightshirt from his trunk. He hated the things, much preferring to sleep as God made him, but it had seldom been practical for him to do so. Perhaps later, he thought with a smile.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack knocked softly on the connecting door to her room. No answer.

  He opened it slowly, fully expecting to find her ensconced in the fancy bed, waiting for him with wide eyes and bated breath.

  She was sound asleep, tangled in the covers, on her back and crossways on the bed, arms outstretched to either side. One bare foot peeked from beneath the coverlet. Her hair, unbraided and uncoiled, framed her head and shoulders in a shining cloud of waves and curls.

  He had never seen it or the lady herself look so free. She was always so buttoned up and tightly braided, surely as she had been taught to be.

  He couldn’t slip into bed beside her. Though the mattress was larger than most, she claimed the better portion of it with her outflung limbs and body position. How in the world had she ever slept on a convent cot? He had never seen one of those, of course, but knew they must, of necessity, be small and narrow.

  He approached the bed, loath to wake her. He noted the modest, unembellished nightdress that covered her neck to wrists, and he imagined to ankles, as well.

  Oddly, seeing her in this state of total abandon proved enough to satisfy him for the moment. She slumbered on, unaware of his appraisal. Jack wondered if she would welcome him with a sleepy smile or if he would frighten the life out of her by his sudden appearance.

  He watched her sigh in her sleep and realized she must have been exhausted by the long trip to London. Sharing a bed with her mother-in-law last night could not have been conducive to good rest, either.

  As much as it pained him in his present state of arousal, Jack decided he should be considerate enough to leave her alone for one more night.

  His mind replayed their kiss aboard ship, the remembered softness of her mouth stirring him further. He must wait, he thought with a huff of frustration. When they did make love for the first time, her very first time, things should be perfect for her. Guilt over the way he had tricked her into the marriage made that even more important.

  Besides, he did not want to seem a demanding sort determined to claim his husbandly rights, even at her inconvenience. She should want this, not simply endure it, or else she might dread it in future. If he was to keep himself only to her, as he had vowed and fully intended to do, he did not want her reluctant in bed.

  Quietly, he covered her exposed foot, returned to his own room and crawled into the gigantic bed alone. Until his body folded into the heavenly soft feather mattress, he had not realized the toll the day had taken on him. He drifted into sleep thinking of Laurel and what pleasures tomorrow night might bring.

  * * *

  When morning came, Jack awoke in a pensive mood. He would go to see Neville today, as well as the solicitor. Once he and Laurel acquired new wardrobes, he meant to leave for Elderidge House and assess the condition of the estate.

  That was a must. The Corn Laws would have affected everyone in that borough adversely and they would probably be wanting, or at the very least anxious to see what the future held for them. Jack made a mental note to learn more about the laws in short order so that he could find a way to reassure the tenants. His tenants. Ah, the task of managing an estate loomed heavy on his mind.

  He did not look forward to encountering the dowager countess. She would certainly resent Laurel’s presence and probably his, too. He only hoped there was a dower house on the estate for the widow or that she would move elsewhere to avoid their company.

  George, the footman, brought him tea and insisted on helping him to dress. Jack allowed it, then dismissed him with orders to take a message to Neville’s house down the street and await an answer.

  Breakfast proved a lonely affair, taken in the large dining room with no company. Apparently the lady was breakfasting in her chamber. Jack wondered if she thought she was expected to do that since they had supped above stairs last evening. She had so much to learn.

  And so did he, Jack admitted. He hated feeling like a fish out of water. He really hated what he must do to correct it. No man wanted to admit he couldn’t solve his own problems.

  A mere half hour later, the butler announced, “Mr. Morleigh awaits you in the parlor, sir.”

  So Neville had returned with the messenger. Jack stood and laid down his serviette. “Thank you, Echols. Have coffee served us there.”

  He strode down the hallway to the parlor, wondering how different he would find Neville nowadays. “So good of you to come, Neville,” he said by way o
f greeting.

  The man had changed a bit, Jack noted as Neville turned to face him. Older, of course, and now decked out like a fashion plate, Neville’s lithe build lent itself well to the current, rather understated mode of a gentleman’s attire.

  Neville flashed his signature grin. “Jack, old man! You are the Earl of Elderidge?” He strode forward and extended his hand, grasping Jack’s in a firm shake. “I had no idea until your footman came with the message! Good to see you, man, and where the devil have you been? I looked for you at Plymouth when I returned to England but your mother said you were abroad.”

  “In Amsterdam,” Jack said. “I read of your marriage in a London paper whilst I was there. Congratulations.”

  Neville’s eyes grew soft. “Wait until you meet her, Jack. She’s been the making of me, that woman.”

  “A baroness, no less,” Jack said. “Leave it to you to find a prize, you old pirate.”

  “Oh, she is a prize all right! She bought me, you see, and I surrendered without a peep.”

  Jack nodded. “I do see, but I’ll bet my last groat the money wasn’t her best quality, was it?”

  Neville laughed. “You know me well, mate. Not that I needed her blunt. Business has been good and investments are sound enough. And you? Still privateering?”

  “On this last voyage, I hired Terrell to captain. The Siren burned and sank over a month ago near Barbados. All hands lost but two crewmen who cobbled three barrels together and floated until the tide took them ashore.”

  Neville cursed. “Gad, I’m so sorry to hear that, Jack. Have you another ship yet? I’ll gladly invest if need be.”

  “No, my seagoing days are done now.”

  Neville brightened after a moment of reflection. “However, you’ve not done badly for yourself since, grabbing an earldom! How in hell did that happen? Did you kill off all the competition?”

  Jack indicated they should sit. “Hardly. Inheriting was a shock. I didn’t even know the old fellow or that I was ever in line for a title.”

  He looked up, meeting Neville’s interested gaze. “I have just married his daughter.” He tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair, wishing he didn’t have to do this. “Look, I hate to ask it of you, Neville, but I need your help.”

  “With the wife?” Neville asked with a wry twist of his lips. “Can’t help you there. I have my hands full at home.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “With decoding the expectations. You know, society manners, dealing with staff and tenants, that sort of thing. Hell, I don’t even know where to go here in Town to buy my wife a frock. She’s straight out of a Spanish convent and was working as a governess, so she knows less than I do about what’s expected of us.”

  Neville leaned forward, listening with interest. “I sense a fascinating story behind this countess of yours.”

  “Indeed, and I’ll share it with you later. But for now, I know your uncle is an earl and that you’ve married into the Ton. I was hoping perhaps you could give me a few suggestions as to how Laurel and I should get on with this new endeavor and not make complete cakes of ourselves?”

  Neville was nodding already. “I will go you one better, friend. Fetch your wife and bring her to meet my Miranda. We will take you both in hand. Before the week is out, you two will be the toast of London.”

  “No, no, that’s too much of an imposition,” Jack protested. “I only want a quick lesson in protocol, a few names of shops and so forth. You needn’t adopt us.”

  “Nonsense, it’ll be fun for all of us! An adventure.” Then Neville paused, his dark brows drawn together. “Wait. There’s nothing much going on in Town until Parliament opens. So there’s no point in making toast of you two when no one’s around to notice. Well then, we shall have plenty of time to bronze you both, won’t we!”

  “Perhaps you should ask your wife if she’s willing.”

  Neville flapped a hand to dismiss that. “Miranda will be delighted with whatever I suggest,” he insisted with a sly wink. “I left her in an excellent mood this morning.”

  No need to ask why. Neville had always been a ladies’ man. “Well, I suppose we could at least come for a chat. You’ll let me know what day is convenient for us to visit?”

  “No time like the present. Collect the countess and let’s away! I have a suspicion our women will be most eager to divest us of a small fortune. We might as well all go shopping.” He raked a wincing look over Jack’s attire. “That the best kit you’ve got?”

  “One that’s better for important occasions,” Jack said defensively.

  Neville threw up one hand. “Fine! Go and don it then. My haberdasher will toss you out on your ear if you turn up wearing this. Unless you wave a fistful of pound notes under his nose, of course. Then you could walk in stark naked if you wished.”

  “Of course it takes money,” Jack replied with a sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Neville asked. “You haven’t any?”

  Jack shrugged. “Aye, plenty, but it’s all hers.”

  “Well it’s yours now,” Neville reminded him. “C’mon, Jack. Don’t second-guess yourself. If I know you at all, you arranged this marriage to bring her out of service as a governess and reinstate her in society, didn’t you?”

  “That, and to save the estate from falling to ruin and putting a sizable number of people out of work. The bare fact is that I married her for her money to do just that. Now I must figure out the best way to put it to good use. How does one run an estate, do you know?”

  “Well, I’ve no experience there, but perhaps my cousin Caine could be of help with advice on that. He’s had to learn the ropes himself of late since he became our uncle’s heir.” He slapped Jack on the back. “Let’s conduct one mission at a time, shall we?”

  Jack excused himself when a maid came in with a tray bearing coffee. He went upstairs, changed quickly and knocked on Laurel’s door. When she answered, he was glad to see her wearing the white gown instead of that gray monstrosity of a governess’s frock. Even so, he wished he could go out and buy her something more appropriate without her having to face a modiste’s or shopkeeper’s ridicule.

  “Get your bonnet,” he instructed. “We are going to visit friends.”

  She complied with obvious reluctance, and Jack knew she wanted to refuse. He didn’t much want to go himself. “Look, we must have new clothes. Neville said his wife will assist you in choosing things and he will instruct me. We have to stow our pride and accept their help.”

  Laurel donned her bonnet, then turned to him. “Jack, I must apologize for falling asleep last night, but I—”

  “Neville is waiting for us,” he said, interrupting her, unwilling to enter into any discussion about the postponed consummation at the moment.

  “Are you angry?” she asked.

  “Of course I’m not angry,” he snapped. “Only anxious to have done with this business of shopping. A more tiresome activity, I cannot imagine, but it can’t be avoided.” He took her arm. “Come, let’s go.”

  He escorted her downstairs where Neville waited in the foyer, his hat in hand. “Laurel, Neville Morleigh, an old friend of mine. Neville, this is my wife.”

  “Enchanté, Lady Laurel.” He bowed and kissed Laurel’s hand. “Welcome home to England.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Morleigh,” Laurel said in a near whisper as she ducked her head and curtsied.

  “I see my old mate has done himself proud. He has always had an eye for beauty,” Neville said. “May I wish you all the best in your life together?”

  “Thank you again, sir.” She blushed and shrank as if she wished to disappear right through the floor.

  Why did she persist in this worse than humble attitude? What had happened to the spirited miss he had first encountered? Had he imagined that set down she’d been giving her employer? Come to think of it, the only time he had ever witnessed her actual fieriness was at Orencio’s.

  But he should be more fair about judging her. Bringing her to London first might have b
een a mistake. As well as accustoming herself to the newness of a large city, she would have to undergo the indignity of being taught how to dress and act by a woman of inferior rank.

  Still, he couldn’t resist an attempt to break her out of this dreadful meekness. “Square up, Laurel. London isn’t full of devils out to get you, you know.”

  “It’s a beautiful morning for a walk,” Neville said, shooting Jack a dark look of reproof.

  Now what? Was Neville disapproving of Laurel or had Jack’s curtness bothered him? Whatever was the matter, Jack just knew he felt all out of patience, upset by Laurel’s loss of spirit, already disliking London and worried about the future.

  He hated the uncertainty of it all, the unfamiliarity he was bound to experience. This was the first time he had felt this way since boarding a ship for the first time as a lad. The feeling left him tied up in knots. Worse than usual.

  They left the town house and made their way down the street to Neville’s. Jack listened with half an ear to Neville’s ramblings about the changes in the city these past few years, merely grunting a response now and then. Laurel remained silent.

  He knew he should act more gracious since he had been the one to ask for Neville’s help in the first place. And he ought to do something to put Laurel at ease. He patted her hand that clutched the inside of his elbow. That was the best he could do at the moment.

  * * *

  Laurel wished she had more social skills. She knew how to address her betters. That had been drilled into her when it was thought that almost everyone she would ever meet would be considered her betters. But rules had changed now, and the nuns had never thought to teach her what a countess must do.

  Add that to the fact that Jack was obviously displeased with her and she was at a total loss. On that point, she was a bit displeased with him, as well. She had seen Jack’s display of quick temper with Orencio the day they met, but when directed at her, Laurel did not appreciate it at all.

  His friend, Mr. Morleigh, seemed a considerate sort. She only hoped his wife was of the same nature or this day might prove a terrible disaster.